Silent witnesses to the coming and going of wild wind and bashful breeze, of setting sun and rising moon, of summer giving way to autumn, winter, spring, summer all over again. One generation plants, another grows, another basks beneath expansive canopy, another swings from its benevolent branches, another harvests for warmth by the fire or a safe haven to call home. So strong and robust yet so utterly sensitive to shifts in climate which leave it unbearably parched or with rotted root vulnerable to pests and robbed of essential nutrients. Its insides become barren and brittle and it loses its luster which beckons our gaze and approach. It dies a slow or quick death depending on whose eyes are watching. It resists not. It stands strong no longer. When it falls it becomes home and sustenance for a billion tiny creatures...mostly imperceptible to the human eye but dutifully doing their part to call it home once again...back to the circle of life from whence it came. Selfless and seemingly silent in nature like the God who called it into being. If trees could speak oh the things they would tell us. But are we ready to listen?